Of Hatters and Crows
by TerrifyingTermite
Summary: Slight AU, tinkering with the timeline and whatnot. JeffersonxOC because I wish we could have had more from his story. Complete, with extra scenes coming later.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, world! It has been YEARS since I have posted something here.

WARNING: this story is about seven years old. Frankly, I'm not even sure at this point, but it is something I've poked and prodded over all this time and finally decided "screw it, it's going online."

Truth be told, I only ever watched OuaT because a) Sebastian Stan is a babe and b) Rumbelle - but a) Sebastian Stan ditched what, halfway through season two? [not that I'm complaining... hello, Bucky] and b) I discovered that the writers decided to go full soap opera and that a happy ending was never going to come [even if they got one when, a year ago?], so no, I am not a huge fan of this show. No, I do not know a lot about it. Yes, it is an AU of sorts. Yes, I wrote it initially just to make myself happy.

Now you all get to see it, edited to be slightly more well-written than it was.

So, enjoy, if you can. Or not. Idk.

* * *

She had been there in the courtroom, watching.

Always watching; never intervening.

That, or maybe never see her body again, which was definitely something to be avoided at all costs as she had been (unfortunately) privy to observe before. Through this astute observation, she had quickly learned her place among the 'royal' of Wonderland.

Never was more than enough for beheading.

So, doing anything, saying anything, or even _noticing_ anything was generally forbidden and gladly obeyed.

So why was it, as one day blurred into the next, that she noticed him?

She wondered if it was the face. His face. Those in Wonderland tailored themselves to suit the whims and wishes of the Queen of Heart, hence the variety of masquerades and underlying physical treatments to blend in together.

His face was different.

It had a wild edge to it. Or, perhaps, that was his hair going about every direction. It was enticing in a way, after so long a time filled with the same drudgery.

Or, maybe it was his pleas for his daughter.

She had, as did the others, rejected it first as merely an excuse for escape, as she had barely bothered to listen at first. But as he continued, desperation rising, she elected to give him another chance. Perhaps he truly meant it. Perhaps he did have a daughter for whom he would sacrifice everything.

No one had ever cared for her enough to do so; that certainly must be it. Her own pathetic wishes. Not him, and not his face.

_Not the aggravatingly attractive face_, she frowned as she peeked around the corner into the room.

There sat the man who had overtaken her thoughts. He and his beloved Grace, whom she had decided must be truly real for him to toil such as he did, even now nearing midnight.

Holding her position in the shadow, she continued to watch the movement of his hands. They flew over the fabric, and though his frustration was evident, the artistry was simply beautiful, as was-

She gave her head a good shake to displace the unwelcome (albeit true) thought. Now was not the time to dwell her attention on someone about whom she knew nothing. They had only spoken several times before, though she wasn't even certain if she should.

This thought redirected her back to the dilemma she always found. The Queen was eccentric. While some things seemed to set her over the edge of sanity, others passed beneath her sight. She apparently cared not that Allia had been down below, visiting the "Hatter", as he had by the others been renamed.

That, or she was biding her time before the sword would strike.

Allia took a step back and inhaled deeply, steadying herself to keep a crazed giggle internal. If her escapades eventually brought about punishment, so be it. This was probably the most exciting thing that had ever happened, circumstances be damned!

Deciding she was ready, and ignoring the slight increased staccato of her heartbeat, she slipped around the passageway and moved towards him. Skirting the worktable that was cluttered with many half-ways done or finished projects, she forced herself to keep her eyes off his failures, trying a tentative smile in his direction instead.

The sorrow that he held threatened to overtake her. The stories he had shared were of Grace. Always Grace; never anything else. He either didn't trust her enough, or himself. Whatever his reasons for secrecy, even after their tentative friendship (she dared to hope) they had established, she would never blame him for it.

She couldn't. Still, she would try to pull him out of his internal, shame-filled prison.

He spared her a glance, smile not returned, his fingers never ceasing their weaving as she emptied her pockets. Some apples. A small loaf of bread. For the first time, mushrooms.

Again, as predicted:

"I won't eat those."

Sighing, Allia knelt at his side in front of the table, resting her arms on the edge. "The mushrooms came from the feeding grove. They're normal, regular fungi that often appears on the dinner tables. The Queen likes to see it as torment for the newcomers, but I've learnt to see the differences."

An eyebrow quirked. Her eyes rolled.

"Yes. Unfortunately, through experience."

She whispered a short story of a smaller girl wandering through her memory, tiny and shrunken, dodging the heels and suffering through their laughter.

He smiled grimly then, fastening a ribbon around the brim of the hat he currently held before nicking an apple and taking a bite.

She dropped her head down in exaggerated relief, his smirk brief. He could be stubborn sometimes.

When he first had been banished down in the basement rooms, he had worked without rest until he nearly starved himself.

When she finally worked up the courage to satiate her curiosity and go see him, she had found him nearly dropping from lack of nourishment. It had not been one of their more pleasant conversations, let alone how she had wanted to introduce herself.

Yet it seemed to win what little trust he had extended. That had been worth it, she supposed.

After a time, she found herself rising. She had talked more than he, sharing what she would of her life and her struggles here below. It was nothing, it would seem, in comparison to his, but it was all she could do for him. Help him understand he wasn't alone, perhaps. And keep him grounded.

There was strange magic in this Underworld.

He looked up at her and nodded, that whimsical smile softening his features. Returning the gesture, Allia quietly made her way out of his prison and back towards her own.

There were a few moments where she thought her spirit might leave her, as she was required to stop when she nearly ran into another member of court.

It would have been fine, but he was trailed by the Queen's Voice, setting her on edge.

They danced their play full of simpering pleasantries, gossip, and snark, and then without another glance to the vizier she was safely back in her room.

Or so she hoped, anyway.

Leaning back against her door, Allia slid down into a heap. No matter how often she waltzed through the peculiar etiquette of Wonderland, she was left exhausted and anxious. It would take days before she would relax back into her usual trepidation, especially since the Voice had been involved.

All he had done was sneer down at her and add a snide comment to their small talk, but still.

Still.

He oozed treachery. Even seeing him across a way would make her skin crawl. But being that close to him... it made her wonder if he knew her every thought. If he somehow knew that her schedule had slightly changed, or that her habit of locking herself away for her prescribed "nightly meditation" was done away with, anything could happen.

Anything happening would be troublesome.

Tiresome. Taxing. Trying. Terrible. Tortuous. T-

With a shake of her head, she forced herself to think straight.

Everything would be fine. Fantastic.

Hopefully.

...

Time wandered on, Jefferson kept working and barely eating, and she thought she was safe.

Several more weeks had passed, and they had fallen into a pattern of camaraderie. Alli did what she could to assist him and turned a deaf ear to his curses regarding magic.

She believed she was safe.

Apparently, she was wrong.

...

"So."

The Queen's Voice straightened imperiously, frowning down at her- the insignificant little waif, doomed to a life of atonement and meditation for her entering their domain with her pathetic existence -

Or so she had been told upon arrival.

The guards on either side of her gave her a shake, and she willed her face to remain neutral as she was pulled in either direction, keeping her gaze fixed on the ground.

Protect. She had to protect him, and she had to protect herself.

She had to get it together.

"Are you worried your eyes will tell a lie?"

A hand fisted into her hair. She quickly looked up before being forced to, focusing all attention on the Voice and the Queen.

"I beg your pardon. I felt not worthy to look upon you, Majesty."

Whispers.

"Yet you thought it within your rights to fraternize with the enemy?"

"Enemy?" She made her eyes wide, hoping her surprise was genuine. "I thought he was given freedom to accomplish his desire! I merely wanted to help in whatever way I could so his asinine self would be gone from your kingdom."

A quiet huff.

"You thought that Her Majesty, the Queen of Hearts, would want you to help the thief that stole something precious from her?"

"I thought it was that woman who acted abominably, and he stupidly let himself be left to be blamed. I confess, I was thinking of his little one." She bowed her head, wishing she could grovel. The floor was safe and secure.

"Foolish girl. Your insipidness will not be tolerated."

"I just want to help. I will do whatever-"

"Silence!"

Allia couldn't help but flinch, even as she knew it would betray her fear.

_Don't let them_ see, had been told her once in passing, years and years and years ago.

But saw they did, and there was a flash of teeth as the Voice couldn't restrain from a feral grin.

Her breath caught.

"What if Her Majesty had sentenced him to starve among the satin?"

She floundered with an answer,

The murmur. She could almost hear it.

The expression on the Voice altered slightly; a nearly wicked gleam entering his eyes.

Panic began to rise in her.

Allia swallowed nervously, proper fear no longer needing to be a pretense. Pretention. Posture. Po-

A metallic _zing _whispered behind her, and the Voice made no effort to stifle his wicked grin as her eyes widened.

If at all possible, her heart sunk down to her feet as his staff met the floor.

"Off with her head."

...

Allia shed her cloak quickly, thankful for the respite on her aching shoulders. A glance around confirmed she was alone before she dared to remove the crow mask as well.

Far be it from her to directly challenge the queen's recent actions if a guard or gossip were lurking.

Nevertheless, all was quiet aside from the ticking of the needle against the thimble - though the apprehension she felt engulfed it all. Perhaps she couldn't hear coming footsteps over the sound of her own anxious heartbeat.

Their last encounter had been strained; she had claimed illness rather than admit to the beheading. Her friend had not been too pleased, but then – he never truly seemed at ease here.

Not his fault. Not her fault.

Stepping further into the workroom, Allia pulled a packet of food from her pocket. It had been several days since she'd last come. Far too long. He wouldn't blame her, though. Couldn't blame her. She'd hardly been able to stand upright when needed, let alone gallivant around the fortress.

Not that he knew.

"Jefferson?"

His scowl deepened, but no other indication was given to her presence. His fingers were flying over the cap he was detailing.

"Jefferson, I have lunch."

A mumble greeted her then, but if anything, his speed increased.

In a mood, then, maybe.

Not that she could blame him.

She set the food down near him, standing to watch him work for several minutes, before leaning close to his ear.

"You know you're going to dislocate something if you keep that up, right?"

Jefferson startled as she spoke, his entire body convulsing. After lunging back, Allia froze, horror filling her as the brim suddenly ripped in his hands. That was unfortunate.

Time skipped.

In a heartbeat he was on his feet, yelling incoherently as he turned towards her. She hardly had time to stumble another foot back before he took her by her arms and began to shake her.

"Almost had it! Had it to work! You ruined it!'

Allia clenched her jaw, determined not to cry out even as her eyes welled. It felt as if she were being decapitated again. But she held her tongue. He didn't know, and she couldn't blame him.

It had started in him.

He flung her down, backing away and shaking his fists, spinning around while letting out garbled words and shouts of frustration. She'd hardly begun to slide away to the shadows, tears now freely falling, before he was looming over her again, his hands gripping at her.

In a rage, he seized the front of her gown and yanked her back up to her feet even as she struggled to free herself and run.

Then the fabric tore.

Then he was still.

They were both breathing heavily. He hadn't let go of her dress, nor she of his arms, needing an anchor to keep herself standing. The red that had blinded him seemed to slowly slip away, and she began to see more and more of her friend as the seconds ticked by.

He was staring at her neck - at the skin that was now bare. He had pulled the cover she'd affixed right off when he lifted her off the ground, and the week-old scar was still ugly and appeared more swollen in the dim lighting.

He looked at her then, his fists slowly relaxing as he studied her face. Allia was holding her breath, trembling; hoping desperately he had come back into his own mind and away from where he had gone.

Then as he reached out, brushing his fingers over her collarbone, his eyes suddenly cleared - even as hers clouded over with fresh tears at his touch.

"A-allia?"

She fell forward, tucking herself against him as he wrapped his arms around her lower back. His forehead pressed lightly on her temple to avoid hurting her further, the two of them locked in a trembling embrace.

They stayed silent for some time, Jefferson rocking them in a gentle sway as her weeping slowed to sniffling.

"Allia. I am so sorry." He eased her back a bit and lifted her chin gently to get a better look, his other hand cradling the back of her head for support. "When?"

"Just the other week. I, uh..." Allia shrugged, trying to force a giggle, but ended up frowning instead as it drew more pain. "I wasn't careful enough."

Not his fault. Had to be her fault.

"Is that why you said you were sick?" At her nod, he made to speak again, but released her abruptly, backing away from her and holding out his hands as she reached out instinctively. "Allia. I don't know what happened. I-"

"It's alright, Jefferson. I know how hard it's been for you." A wry smile lifted her countenance. "Next time I won't scare you like that."

"It shouldn't have mattered. I thought I was dreaming. It was a nightmare, my Crow. I wasn't here, I was... I was..." He dropped to his chair and let his head fall forward in shame. "I shouldn't have done that."

Allia sighed, then bent to pick up the package she had dropped before she crossed her arms tightly over her stomach to ward off the sudden chill. "Eat, Jeff."

...

It was awkward for a time.

For her, it shifted to unsettling.

She supposed she hadn't wanted to see the change that was subtly creeping up on her friend. Jefferson had been moodier as time had passed, but she accounted it to merely missing his daughter, along with a new sort of guilt.

It was frustrating for her watching him struggle to make something magic that wasn't; how much more for him to fail time and time again.

Also, taunting letters had recently begun to find their way to his workroom, asking after his progress.

So, the conclusion had seemed simple to her: he was annoyed and progressively more so the longer he went without achieving a miracle and returning to his daughter.

At first, it had not occurred to her that he might be succumbing to the odd bit of illness that came along with the Red Queen.

She was unstable. Everyone she had any influence over was unstable. There had been some, blurred faces from times that must be ancient, who had succumbed and disappeared in the aftermath of their madness.

Allia winced, dropping her head into her hands. If everyone was unstable so was she, then.

It would explain her obsessive need of alliteration.

But maybe. . .there was more to it. Maybe the Queen could direct that influence to suggest as she wanted - make people a little more offset than they ought to be.

Jefferson had seemed normal enough. Stressed after being stuck. Stressed, swayed, staggered. Any slight mental manipulation on top of the trauma would be enough to do anyone in.

_Magical_ mental manipulation.

Magic was _always_ the problem, she decided, in a rare moment of calmness.

He was fading, even if he seemed fine today.

It was frightening.

She had to face it.

She didn't know what to do.

"Problem, my Crow?"

Also, she forgot where she was.

Lifting her head, Allia managed a bright grin. "Just the usual."

"What, your boring life as a courtroom mannequin not good enough for you anymore?"

"My boots pinch my feet." She sighed dramatically. "What's the use of perfection if it involves pain?"

His lips quirked up briefly before setting back into his usual expression of determination. She glanced past her curtain of hair to watch him work, studying his hands.

Still shaking. Though, there was a pause.

He saw her peek, maybe?

It was as if he knew something was wrong. He joked aimlessly more than their typical visits. He winked and flirted shamelessly, paying more attention to her than to the top hat left lifeless on the worktable.

The still near-constant ache in her neck shifted up to the back of her head until it became almost unbearable. These headaches would be the death of her.

Jefferson's voice began to blur into a dream. He had been telling her a story, hadn't he? About Grace, and mushrooms, and a waist-coated bunny... twiddle-dee, twilldum. Tweedle?

"Allia. Aaaallia." A finger poked at her temple.

She groaned, turning her head away. "Leave me alone, rabbit. Hop along home."

"Here I am, burrowed away. Fly away, Crow, back to your nest."

Blindly reaching out a hand, she let him drag her to her feet as he laughed at her sleepy frown. As she stepped away, she waved in dismissal, sending a 'caw' over her shoulder. She flapped her elbows, former thoughts of lunacy hovering blithely over her own actions.

It was much later that she realized the wide grin he sent after her would be the last one of its kind in Wonderland.

...

He was rocking today. Rocking and mumbling, to be specific.

First the emptiness. The vacancy in him. Not knowing anything or anyone; no response to whatever she attempted.

His hands moved, but it was as if some machine were at work and not a living creature.

Then there was a shift.

He became twitchy. She would speak, and he would flinch or blink several times. His hands would jerk, and he would only occasionally answer.

Then he would say other things. Random, off-putting things. Things that weren't cohesive to any form of regular thought.

Sometimes he would look at her, and she would see the man she had come to know in his eyes. He would begin to smile, lips soundlessly shaping her name, and then it would be gone - fleeting as a hummingbird.

But today. . .today it was new.

Allia was crouched next to his chair, helplessly looking on as his hands stitched and tucked, folded and replaced over and over and over again. Fighting, fighting, fighting. He would finish and throw the completed work aside with a lamented "Won't work! Gotta make it work!" before gathering new materials.

Her hand moved to his shoulder, squeezing in a useless attempt to ground him. At least she could touch him - so long as she didn't obstruct his movement.

(Her face was surely still red after an attempted intervention earlier where she had)

Waving the small loaf beneath his chin, she began to whisper as well, hoping it would penetrate the fog.

"I brought lunch. You missed our last date."

"Gotta get it to work."

"My poor heart was absolutely crushed."

"Get it. . .get it. . ."

"It's not much today, but you know the Bloody-Big-Head."

"Get it to work. . ."

"Jefferson."

"Get it. . .gotta get it to work."

Rolling her eyes in frustration, she broke off a piece of the bread, proffering it to her friend. He didn't so much as blink. She pleaded and begged for him to eat, but he was blind to her efforts.

Maybe if. . .

Allia pushed the morsel against his lips in between words. He took it in stride, swallowed, and went right back to rambling without missing a stitch.

The breath she was holding rushed out and she let her head drop for a brief moment to his shoulder, allowing herself to shift with his rapid movements. This she could do. She would keep him alive. For as long as she could. She had to.

...

"Jefferson. . .Jefferson!"

She was shrieking over his cries of frustration, no longer caring if anyone else heard her. Now the Queen took delight in her agony over the man, apparently.

Actually. Allegedly. Absolutely.

Who even knew anymore?

He roared then, toppling a stack of hats with a sweep of his hand, nearly slapping her in the face with the wild swing.

She quickly pressed herself to the wall next to his shelves, ill as she watched him spin up and out of his chair, rushing to gather an armful of material.

He dashed back to the table, dropping it all in a heap and falling to his seat.

Allia ran one hand through her hair, and then the other, gripped, and pulled. She had to think. She needed to think.

Needed to try. Had to try. Try something. Anything.

They were all mad here, she knew now, as she listened to him mutter and mutter and mutter.

Try _something._

"Jefferson."

"Get it to work. Get it to work."

A thought – errant, erratic, eccentric, entreating –

"Jefferson. Why. . .why is a raven like a writing desk?"

Everything froze. His hands, his voice, and his work.

She was sure the thudding of her heartbeat would be enough to send him back into the spiral.

He turned, staring past her, though his eyes -oh, she hoped it were so!- flickered over her in recognition.

"Why. . .? Why 'sit?"

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

He shifted around, beginning to rock back and forth again. "Why is it? Why's a raven?"

Dropping to her knees, Allia reached quickly to procure an apple. She grasped his wrist gently and set the fruit in his hand. His mumbling continued, but he methodically bit into the apple in rhythm with his sway.

"Why a desk and a crow?"

The tears must be kept at bay. She cleared her throat. "Must be crumbs in the butter?"

"Crumbs. . .crumbs and crows. Mine. . .the crow."

Oh. _Oh._

He was silent then, and she forced herself to keep quiet as well, to stifle the heartbreak that threatened to overwhelm her.

The only sound was the occasional crunch of the apple, and the constant tapping of his finger on the desk.

Tap, tap. Bite. Tap, tap. Bite. Tap, tap. Bite.

As quickly as it had come, it was lost.

The rest of the apple fell from his hand and he shook himself, as if any awareness had been a mere dream and he had awoken.

"Get it to work. Get it to work."

...

Allia took his shoulders from behind to shake him, sick of it all. Sick of this life – this pathetic excuse for reality. Especially since the light that had dangled before her was now nearly extinguished.

Not even asking him about the raven was working anymore.

No more mentions of a Crow.

"Jefferson! Wake UP."

"Gotta work. Gotta get it to work."

It wasn't fair. He shouldn't have to be like this. She shouldn't have to deal with this.

Anger welled up in her, though at who she wouldn't have been able to say. The stupid man for coming in the first place. The Evil Queen for leaving him. The Red Queen for keeping him. Her own self for failing him.

Instead, she slapped him.

"Come on, you stupid man! Wake up!"

Her chest was heaving as she sucked down air, suddenly hoping and praying he wouldn't retaliate in a fit of rage himself. Realizing she could have made a terrible mistake, she forced her emotions down to focus on his face.

Except, she couldn't.

It was fading.

She grasped at his arm, but her fingers fisted into nothing instead.

Something was wrong.

"Jefferson? Jefferson!" Allia shrieked, lunging towards him as the room rapidly closed in around her and he suddenly seemed so far away, taking no notice of anything but the bowler he held.

She stretched as far as she could, but her hands that had been right near him couldn't grasp a thing. Everything was then ripped from her senses, and she felt as if she were falling into an abyss as she slowly lost consciousness.

The blank, empty face staring through her was the last she saw - an unnamed man that would haunt her coming dreams.

...

Alicia bolted upright in bed, frantically kicking against her tangled sheets.

"Nooo, no birds! Get away!"

She collapsed back down, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing. In and out. In and out. Dr. Whale said it wouldn't do to slip back into habitual panic attacks. She had to take control of her mind and keep herself calm. She could do this. She couldn't lose her job. Needed something to keep her busy, and keep her mind off–

With a sharp shake, she deviated her thoughts from the lingering oppression of the nightmare. No good to dwell on the past.

She could have been lost for years, not just weeks before they had found her. No, there was plenty to be thankful for. At least she was free. Finally, free of that dungeon in her mind

At least she barely remembered anything from her hallucination. . .even if what she did was enough to keep her drugged at night if she ever wanted to sleep.

With a groan, she fumbled around on the dresser, knocking her glasses and lip balm out of the way until she found the pills. Swallowing two with some very cold tea, she laid back down and began reciting period English authors until she could feel the medicinal lethargy coming on.

No more dreams tonight.

She sighed in relief as she let the sweet relief of drugged sleep overtake her as her conscious thought slipped away after a final, wandering, unusual conclusion.

She really, really hated hats.


	2. Chapter 2

OH HEY there's a second part.

Do people still do disclaimers about owned content, or is that a thing of the past?

(I'm ancient now)

(still an AU, don't forget)

But I also think this part is as cute as my younger self could write, so suffer through it if you want. Or don't. Your choice haha.

* * *

She had to assume he had finally gone to Paige.

Er, Grace.

Allia - Alicia, as she had been in her previous life here - was puttering around her bookstore, trying to find work to do before it was late enough to close.

Re-shelve books. _Done thrice._

Sweep. _Finished._

Mail orders. _None today. _

Make tea? _Hardly considered working, Allia._

It was no use. Grace wasn't coming today, same as yesterday. And the day before.

There had been times she was sick, but the Graces _hah!_ would always call to tell Alicia. They knew how she cared for their - no, his daughter. And Grace never liked missing the new books they put out.

She always came on Thursday, always 3:47pm, always after she chatted with her friends at school. On Thursday.

But she hadn't. Not Thursday, not Friday, and now - not Saturday morning, anyway.

Still, it was to be expected. Grace had told her that she wanted to find her Papa. Her _real_ Papa. And that the Graces were completely supportive of her endeavors. How could they not be? After all that had occurred,and now had been restored, they wouldn't have dared to tell her otherwise; nor would they have wanted to.

Grace had assured Allia that they were as thrilled as she was that the father and daughter might be reunited.

She knew she should be happy for Grace. Her little friend had spent the majority of an hour sobbing in Allia's arms the last time she had come into the shop.

_"Why hasn't Papa come for me?"_

_"Why hasn't Papa answered my notice?"_

_"Why hasn't Papa contacted me?"_

_"Where is my Papa? Is he even here? Is he even alive?"_

Of course, they were all questions Allia knew not how to answer. Instead, she had pressed a new diary into the girl's hands and hugged her long and tight.

What could she Grace? There was not even a guarantee that Jefferson had come, or that he was even still alive. If he was, there was no guarantee he was in his right mind. Not after all that had happened. . .

How should she know?

If he were, she had never run into him before.

Not that she would have remembered him.

Not that she remembered well at all. It was too confusing.

Sighing, Allia rubbed her forehead. Just thinking of thinking about it brought back the unforgiving and consistent ache.

She remembered her reality so well now - who she was, where she came from; the darkness of the court. . .falling away from him.

How all the stories of his little girl now made so much more sense.

She also remembered things she shouldn't, like a childhood here in Storybrooke. Playground shenanigans. Discovering boys. Senior prom. Twenty-four, or five, or six or seven years - not that she really knew how old she was at this point, with all those wasted, mindless years.

Crumbs and crows had danced around the corners of her mind for so long; she hadn't thought twice about it being unusual.

She had never asked herself why there had always been the feeling something was missing.

_That was the point_, she reminded herself, as she dropped into one of the cushioned chairs in the front corner, deciding to neglect responsibility for another moment. _Not knowing. Not seeing. Staying lost. . ._

It could have been worse, though, was her next grim thought. At least there had been some sort of light in her life.

The problem was, she knew not when the fake memories of her cursed life actually became the things that she herself had actually done. What had really been her? Had she bought her car, or had it been left for her? Did she hire on for the Queen's Quills, or was it just something created for her? She had always loved books as a child, hardly having the privilege of handling one in Wonderland, so did the Curse make it something she wanted? Or had the inner part of her being reached out in memory, causing her to choose accordingly after being dumped off here?

Why had she even been brought along?

She wasn't unlike this Alicia. This woman she had become. Alicia was Allia, and it was increasingly difficult to separate the two as her worlds blended together. She still preferred peppermint tea to any other drink. Conflict was an annoyance. Being trapped, physically or emotionally, was abominable. Candles were a soothing, aromatic-

_Enough with the 'A's, Allia._

It was agonizingly useless, as she thought her presence here was.

A rueful smile flitted across her face. People were looking for loved ones, not knowing if _everyone_ had come across the void.

How could they have all fit? How was it to be figured? Were there hermits in the woods? Had the rest of the Wonderland court been pulled through? What made who come over?

At least she had nobody. Not like that, anyway. Grace would come back eventually.

Maybe. Hopefully.

No matter what, the people of Storybrooke would carry on, as going home was apparently out of the question, but readjusting wouldn't be entirely bad. At least they were settled.

It would take time for life to meander back to the normal. Especially now that magic had returned.

There was news that the Charming baby was all grown, with one of her own. She thought she remembered hearing about that in some of the years past, unless she just had always known now. That was apparently what had broken the spell, and unleashed a new power in their corner of the world.

(not that she or any of them even really seemed to know the expanse of Storybrooke.)

Just thinking of it sent a chill up her spine. Magic was something she had never really approved of. This entire drama only cemented her belief. Few should be gifted with the power - or even knowledge of it.

Just look at what had happened.

Shouts reached her through the glass, and she turned with a faint hopelessness to watch as another individual ran to hug and greet a long-lost familiar face. Almost two weeks later, and the reunions were still happening. They all were desperately seeking some stability in their new life.

She was as well, if she admitted it.

And that brought her back around to Grace. Eventually, Allia had to recognize that she had truly come to depend on her little friend. No wonder her Papa had loved her so. Grace was sweet as could be, with a stubborn streak that had amused and baffled Alicia. It beamed its way to victory through that smile of hers, conniving little angel that she was. Allia was going to miss it, and her. In fact. . .

It had looked like that grin was shining from across the street for a moment, there. It really looked so much like Grace's, but that man was in the way-

A gasp was torn from her as Allia stumbled to her feet, nose immediately to the window.

No. _No._ It couldn't be.

The man held out his hand to the little girl, turning far enough around so Allia could see his profile.

There was no mistaking that face.

Her heart began to pound.

_He's really here._

_It's really him._

_And he's really crossing the street._

_He's-_

Wait.

"Aiyaaah!"

Allia darted into a few aisles back, ducking in between the shelves in a place where she could peek around a corner.

They weren't coming here. They couldn't come here. She couldn't handle this. Not now. She really, really didn't want to have to handle at the moment.

There's no way he could remember past the Wonderland Madness. Grace must have wheedled him into it, like she was so skilled at doing, her intention to help only going to cause more distress.

The bell on the door jingled, and Allia flinched back into hiding, putting her back to the end of the bookcase, waiting. Sometimes, if she were caught up in something in the back, it would take a minute for her to come out. People understood. People were patient. Grace knew her habits.

She caught her breath, determined not to make a sound.

Grace was saying something; then she shouted: "Miss Alice!" and all was quiet, as if she were waiting for a reply.

_He_ muttered something Allia couldn't hear, and his daughter answered.

Allia stood as still a possible, listening as the two voices moved. When she had told Grace the stories, she never believed to be. . .well, what could she call it?

Betrayed? Revealed? Reviled? Relieved?

But now he had come, and she decided she couldn't bear it. Not now. Maybe not ever. She was not prepared for this; he had never stepped foot over the threshold of the shop before.

Except, now he was, with his whimsical little waif leading the charge further into the store.

She hadn't expected him to, had wished he would, but now that he was, she couldn't face him.

"Come on, Papa! Miss Alice is waiting!"

His response was even lower, and she flinched when she heard that rumble again, even if his words were unintelligible. The pang of missing him the past two weeks broke through her anxiety.

But there was no time for that. She needed to focus. Needed to get away. She wasn't going to see the blank expression, the unknown question that she wouldn't want to answer.

The little, sweet voice was closer.

"She's probably unpacking boxes in the storage room."

Leaning to the left, Allia peered around the end of the shelf, watching as they vanished around the other direction. Now!

She quietly moved from one bookend to the next, keeping a step ahead of their opposite movement. Once they were at the counter, and Grace was calling her name again, she walked a tad quicker towards the door.

Nonchalantly.

The bell would ring - why did _every_ shop in Storybrooke need to have one, and why hadn't she removed it yet? - as if someone else were coming in for a look, and she would be safe.

Maybe. Hopefully.

The jingle sounded as loud as a thunderclap, and Allia winced. The candle was lit; here came the chopper. Seconds later the door swung shut behind her, and she took one. . .two. . .three more steps to the right, just beyond the first window.

Then she ran.

She ran down the end of the line of shops, waving at the bemused characters she passed. Just off for a jog. Jeans and boots were normal. Pretty scarf, too. Nothing to see; just passing through. Good day! Much, _much_ too busy for you. No worries!

The south side was closest to the wharf. She could get down by the docks; maybe hide in a boat. Go for a long swim. Well, maybe not. Too cold, in winter. That was insane.

Illogical. Inane. Irrational.

Turn and go around the back to the other side of town. Sneak in through the exit of one of the other shops? Head up towards Main Street. Anything to get away. Almost there, and she'd be out of sight.

Somewhere behind her she heard a shout. Somehow, she managed to hasten her gate. Somehow, she was still breathing enough not to collapse. Sprinter, she was not. But she had to get away. She had to.

Allia grabbed the corner post of the boardwalk to help twist her momentum around, stumbling through the transition and pausing to steady herself and gasp in a breath.

Another cry of her name, closer this time. Close enough to hear to accompanying footsteps. She started and lunged away, feeling her boot catch on something after only a couple steps, and she willed her feet to straighten out even as she pitched more towards the ground than away. _Gotta keep mo-_

Allia shrieked as she fell.

But suddenly, there were arms wrapped around her, and she was pulled away from the concrete collision and back up. A heartbeat later and she found herself swung around to be pressed to wall, hands trapping her in place.

He was looming over her, hardly panting as she wheezed for air.

Right. The imbecile. Of course, _he _was in shape. Always running. He had told her once. Still, he had been fit sitting behind that worktable. So horrendously fit then, and so very close to her now. Why was he leaning down like that?

His lips brushed the skin beneath her ear, sending a dagger of heat down her spine.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Allia whimpered.

And then he was still.

And then he spoke.

"Why _is_ a raven like a writing desk?"

Jefferson sounded amused.

Her eyes opened instinctively, even as she stiffened.

Breathing stopped. Thinking stopped. Heart beating stopped as well.

Or at least skipped. She was sure it skipped, because everything else seemed to stand still and she was sure she had passed on.

No, then that would be stopped. Definitely: heart stopped.

She'd never told Grace what she had said to him.

"And please don't tell me it's crumbs in the butter. That really doesn't make sense anyway."

His hand lifted her chin then, and before she could hardly take in the ocean blue of his eyes, he kissed her. Kissed her, just like he had once before.

And then he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, and Allia thought he might hug her back to her previous death. It would be a better way to go, thankfully, so she settled for tucking herself in as tightly as she could as he practically enveloped her. She was still too breathless and nervous to speak, so she merely clutched at the back of his overcoat, soaking in the feel of him.

They didn't move for quite some time.

Not until the breeze swept up from the waterfront, and she shivered involuntarily, the realization of her hands and everything going numb an annoying reality.

"Here." Jefferson murmured into her ear before slowly stepping back and shrugging out of his coat, eyes radiant as he released her.

"But you'll get a chill, now," Allia tried to wave him off, tried not to process anything, but he reached around and bundled her up anyway.

"And she speaks," was his answering murmur.

Allia dropped her gaze, hearing him huff out a sigh.

"You should have brought a coat then, so I wouldn't have to catch a cold on your behalf."

She glanced up to find him grinning like a Cheshire.

"I didn't plan ahead of escaping, to be honest," was her answering mutter as she moved around him to head back to the store.

There was a pause, and she could have sworn she felt him reach for her before Jefferson merely fell in step beside her, clasping his hands together behind his back as she crossed her arms.

He was silent until they were on the main walkway before speaking again, bumping his shoulder into hers to draw soften his words.

"Why did you run, anyway?"

She sighed.

"I didn't think you would remember me. No, don't start." Allia stuck a finger up in his face and waved it around when he tried to interrupt. "You know how Wonderland magic is. It's unsteady. Unstable. Unreliable. Un- well, you - you know." Her words tumbled as that familiar smile on his face grew. "You were so focused on finding your way back to Grace. . ."

Shaking her head, she instinctively shifted closer to him, returning his shoulder nudge. "You weren't you at the end of it. Something else had taken over. I don't even know if Grace could have brought you back from it."

He hummed before answering. "Then how did I remember everything? Why me?"

"Maybe the magics were counter-reactive? They might have-" She frowned at his smirk. "What?"

"Counter-reactive?"

Rolling her eyes, she snapped, "You know what I mean," before continuing. "Or maybe it was all your realm-hopping that protected you. But the memory loss was from the Curse I understand, so I suppose Regina decided she wanted you that way."

"It makes sense. They all forgot their joy. I was forced to suffer in awareness."

Allia froze mid-step then, catching him by the arm, and Jefferson following suit with an eyebrow raised in question. Her eyes widening as his previous statement finally registered through her haze, she gawked at him, insecurity flooding through her.

"Wait. You remembered everything?"

They stood in silence.

His expression began to change ever so slightly. It went from confused to being colored with a shade of guilt. Sighing, Allia petulantly folded her arms over her middle again, shaking her head when he held his hands out with his palms up for her to take.

"Explain."

He didn't move; didn't speak. He only tilted his head slightly, and the shame was displaced with something akin to pleading. Big blue eyes and all.

Allia heaved another sigh, suddenly realizing the ridiculousness of her antics.

In time, the whirlwind of emotion would abate. There was no need to let herself be swept away from him, even if she was still irritated.

That being decided, she hesitantly placed her hands on his own,

She gasped he abruptly pulled her forward into another embrace, breathing in and out deeply. Slowly and steadily, like she had so many times to stave off a panic attack. He waited until her posture had softened and her hands unclenched before he spoke.

"I'm sorry. I don't think Regina knew about you."

"So, you hadn't remembered everything?"

"Apparently not, my Crow."

With a grumpy noise, she slipped out of his arms to continue their stroll to Queen's Quills, this time allowing him to take her hand in his, even as she scoffed at his teasing smile.

Now, the Queen's court was something she could have never remembered and would not have regretted, particularly the pain of the masquerades.

"I hated that mask."

"I know, love."

Grace was waiting for them. When she looked down at their hands, she clapped her hands together and bounced on her toes.

"I told you, Papa! I told you!"

"Yes, dear Grace, you did." He released Allia and bent down to hug his daughter, squeezing more tightly than he ought to as she began to laugh and protest until he straightened, resting a hand on her shoulder as she began to prattle.

"I made some tea while you were gone. I hope you don't mind, Miss Alicia," Grace chirped as she gave the older woman a hug. She then skipped back into the store, chattering about all the things the three of them would now be doing, but don't forget the plenty of tea parties they would have in between.

Jefferson laughed and glanced her way as he spoke.

"Allia," he winked over at her. "Her name is Allia."

* * *

If you made it this far, thanks for reading!

So my younger self decided that Regina did not master magic right away, or something.

Anyway, as of now, this story is complete! However, now that I've taken the time to publish this I have some other ideas floating around that may or may not be added on as extra little scenes. Stay tuned if you wish; if not, bye. :)


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